


Dissolution

by rusty_armour



Series: Sanctuary [2]
Category: Robin of Sherwood
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angst and Humor, Episode: e01 Robin of Sherwood: The Knights of the Apocalypse, Gen, Mystical, Pilgrimage, Quest, Supernatural Elements, Travel, enemies to frenemies, somewhat dark themes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-20
Updated: 2018-03-08
Packaged: 2019-02-17 13:42:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 16,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13078065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rusty_armour/pseuds/rusty_armour
Summary: Herne’s mission proves challenging on a physical and emotional level for not only Gisburne, but Loxley as well.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a sequel to [Thrall](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11510295) and a Christmas present for [raven714](http://raven714.livejournal.com/). It probably won’t make much sense if you haven’t read [Thrall](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11510295) as it takes place directly after it and deals with the events of that story. I’m hoping to post the second part of Dissolution in either January or February.
> 
> This takes place shortly after [The Knights of the Apocalypse](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Robin_of_Sherwood:_The_Knights_Of_The_Apocalypse%20). 
> 
> This story is based on Richard Carpenter's series _Robin of Sherwood_. The characters are the property of Richard Carpenter, Robin May, Anthony Horowitz and the RoS production team. This is also based on “The Knights of the Apocalypse” audio adventure, which was based on an original script by Richard Carpenter, directed by Robert Young and produced by Barnaby Eaton-Jones, not to mention the novel written by Jonathan Green.
> 
> The magnificent artwork for this story was created by raven714. You can find more of her beautiful RoS fanart and fanvids [here](http://raven714.livejournal.com).
> 
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> * * *

 

  


 

  
  


When Loxley found himself backed up against a wall, with a brawny fist gripping his tunic and a knife at his throat, he realized that he might have underestimated his adversary. He should have known that a fraudulent pardoner possessing a lucrative trade in false relics might employ a bully boy. That same pardoner was standing at the threshold of the inn chamber looking decidedly smug now that he’d gained the upper hand.

“Should I kill him?” the bully boy asked, his fetid breath wafting in Loxley’s face.

“No,” the pardoner said. “There might be a price on his head.”

Loxley almost smiled. For once, there wasn’t, unless such a price could be claimed for a dead man.

The bully boy was studying Loxley closely, his small round eyes narrowed, his knife digging into Loxley’s neck. “I think you should kill him. He knows about the relics.”

“It would be his word against mine, which wouldn’t mean much. Look at his clothes, Bardolph. He’s obviously a peasant. No one would believe him.” The pardoner was smirking now, looking more insolent than ever. Then he gasped as a hand landed heavily on his shoulder and a sword was pressed against his throat.

“They’ll believe me,” Gisburne said, “though I think we should pay a visit to your bishop, not your sheriff.” He looked at Bardolph. “Step away from the peasant or I might change my mind and run my sword through your master.”

Bardolph glared at Gisburne. “Who are you?”

“A man who hates pardoners.”

Bardolph snorted. “He ain’t a real pardoner, and he ain’t got no bishop either.”

The pardoner flushed red. “Bardolph!”

Gisburne smiled in a way that was never pleasant. “Even better.”

For the first time, Loxley saw a wave of apprehension cross Bardolph’s face. Bardolph had apparently recognized that he’d met his match. Loxley could understand why Bardolph might find Gisburne intimidating as the knight was still wearing his armour, though Gisburne had turned his surcoat inside out to try to hide the device. It helped that the surcoat was almost grey with all the dust, dirt, and mud they had picked up during their travels. Loxley assumed that Bardolph hadn’t looked closely at Gisburne’s face, which was thinner and paler than it should have been. Bardolph lowered his knife and stepped away from Loxley.

“I was never involved in any of it,” Bardolph said. “He only hired me to protect him. Nothing more.”

“You’ve done well so far,” Loxley muttered.

“I’m only interested in the pardoner,” Gisburne said. “I don’t care what you may or may not have done.”

Bardolph now fully turned to face Gisburne. “You’ll be needing evidence if you’re going to bring him before the bishop. I can provide it – for a price.”

“Bardolph,” the pardoner growled between clenched teeth.

“I’m sure the bishop would pay you,” Loxley said. “He has more money than we do. Wouldn’t you agree, Sir Guy?”

They had decided to address each other by their given names when they weren’t alone. They were trying not to draw attention to themselves, and both “Loxley” and “Gisburne” were names that had become rather infamous throughout England. Of course, confronting corrupt pardoners and their bully boys, not to mention planning visits to bishops, wasn’t really aiding this endeavour. At least Gisburne had enough sense to avoid the Sheriff of Kent. Loxley didn’t know if Gisburne was acquainted with the man, but it would be dangerous even if he wasn’t.

Gisburne shoved the pardoner into the room. “We need to bind his hands.”

“I have a bit of rope here on my belt,” Bardolph said. “You never know when it might come in useful.”

Loxley held his breath as Bardolph pulled the frayed rope from his belt. He didn’t think Bardolph should notice that his purse was lighter now than it had been just a moment ago.  
Bardolph held up the rope for Gisburne to see. “Here, my lord. This should do the trick. Would you like me to do it?”

Gisburne nodded and moved away from the pardoner, though he didn’t lower his sword. Bardolph yanked the pardoner’s arms behind his back and worked quickly and efficiently to bind the pardoner’s wrists.

The pardoner gazed at Gisburne beseechingly. “I can give you money. Bardolph carries some in his purse.”

Gisburne glanced at Loxley in amusement. “I don’t need your money.”

Loxley closed his eyes and silently berated himself. He should have known that Gisburne would see him stealing the coins from Bardolph’s purse.

The pardoner was squirming uncomfortably, his eyes still on Gisburne. “Everything that Bardolph told you was a lie. I am a pardoner and I can give you all the indulgences that you could ever desire.”

Gisburne placed the tip of his sword against the pardoner’s chest. “Even if I did believe you, you don’t have enough indulgences to save me.” He grabbed the pardoner’s arm and hauled him to the door. “We’re leaving. Now.”

 

 

When the group arrived at the manor, they were met by the archdeacon rather than the bishop, who had been unable to see them. When the archdeacon learned the reason for their visit, he was effusive in his praise of Gisburne. To Loxley’s surprise, Gisburne hadn’t preened under the archdeacon’s glowing compliments. He hadn’t even tried to curry favour or hint at a reward. Of course, to do so would have meant spinning an even longer story than the one they had already concocted for themselves. Maybe Gisburne was being cautious, though it seemed strange that he would go to the trouble of delivering the false pardoner if he hadn’t been expecting something in return. It would have been easier if Gisburne had simply let the pardoner go free. Gisburne had said that he hated pardoners, so was he seeking justice? Revenge?

In the past, Loxley had been able to read Gisburne easily, but he couldn’t read him now. Oh, Loxley knew that Gisburne hadn’t lost sight of his primary goal, but he had trouble understanding Gisburne’s motivations. While it seemed natural that Gisburne would turn to the Church, Loxley didn’t think that Gisburne had sought spiritual guidance or counsel from a priest. Loxley found that he was still contemplating Gisburne’s behaviour even after they had left the bishop’s manor and were riding through Canterbury.

“You could have told what you were planning,” Gisburne said, stirring Loxley from his thoughts.

Loxley grimaced. “I didn’t think you’d approve. How did you find me?”

“I followed you, of course. I saw the look on your face when we passed the pardoner outside the cathedral. I knew you’d do something, but I hadn’t realized just how eager you were to be killed or arrested.”

Loxley sighed. “You were supposed to be visiting the shrine.”

Gisburne waved a fly from his face. “The shrine’s been there for decades. I doubt it will matter much if I visit it tomorrow.”

Loxley doubted it would make much difference whether Gisburne visited Canterbury at all. Although they had travelled to Walsingham, Bromholm Priory, Bury St. Edmunds, and Waltham Abbey, Gisburne hadn’t appeared to derive any comfort or enlightenment from their pilgrimage. Loxley thought they should visit places with real power, such as Rhiannon’s Wheel or the Ring of the Nine Maidens, but it was Gisburne who had to decide where the box containing Baphomet should be buried.

“Are you planning to keep any of the money or is it all going to the poor?” Gisburne asked.

Loxley gritted his teeth. “The poor were cheated out of that money. It’s only fair that I return it to them. I wouldn’t have thought that you would be interested in money. Aren’t pilgrims supposed to take a vow of poverty?”

Gisburne scowled. “I’m not a pilgrim, though I suppose you’d have me wearing sackcloth and walking on my hands and knees. We’ll need some money if we’re going to eat, unless you think you can kill a deer in the middle of Canterbury.”

Loxley smiled sheepishly. They would need some money for food, though, with what little Gisburne had been eating, they probably wouldn’t need much. Judging by the dark circles under Gisburne’s eyes, some better accommodation than a hospice might also be in order. “All right,” Loxley said. “We’ll keep some of the money. Perhaps we can dine at the inn and stay there for the night.”

Gisburne glanced at Loxley in surprise. “I wasn’t suggesting that you part with _that_ much money.”

“You didn’t see how much money the pardoner stole. I never knew there were so many holy relics – false or otherwise. There should be enough money for everyone. I think we can afford to sleep at the inn for one night.”

 

 

Loxley was content to let his thoughts wander as the room grew darker and he had to rely more and more on the light of the tallow candles to see the other guests. He was glad that they had decided to stay at the inn. Loxley had heard stories about disreputable innkeepers that charged too much for bad food and even poorer accommodation, or ones that even robbed the people who stayed under their roofs, but this innkeeper treated his guests well. He provided decent food and proper beds without overly thin mattresses infested with bedbugs and lice. That’s why Loxley couldn’t understand Gisburne’s lack of enthusiasm for the inn.

Gisburne sat picking at his meal, much as he had done with every meal they had shared since their journey began. Loxley wondered if even the inn’s decent fare wasn’t good enough for a man who was accustomed to dining in Nottingham Castle’s great hall. Then Loxley realized that he wasn’t being completely fair. Gisburne had barely complained when they were forced to make camp in cold, damp spots in the woods. Loxley had been even more surprised that Gisburne appeared to have no qualms about travelling with a man who robbed people and engaged in poaching. Gisburne hadn’t even raised an eyebrow when Loxley had returned to their camp one day with a sword he had obviously stolen. When Loxley had questioned Gisburne about it, Gisburne had simply shrugged and said, “You need one, don’t you?” Despite this assertion, Gisburne had hardly taken his eyes off Loxley for those first few days and was still careful to keep that physical distance between them.

“What is it?” Gisburne asked, setting down his cup of ale, and Loxley found that he’d been staring at him.

“Nothing,” Loxley said. “Just lost in thought.”

“Were you thinking about Marion?”

Loxley followed Gisburne’s gaze to the innkeeper’s daughter and her rich auburn hair. Loxley decided that it would be easiest to humour Gisburne and go along with the story. “Yes, I suppose I was.”

“Hmm,” Gisburne grunted and stood up. “I’m going to check on the horses.”

“Would you like me to take first watch?” Loxley asked.

Gisburne’s hand moved unconsciously to the pouch that hung from his belt. “No, I’m not tired yet. I’ll do it.”

“Well, wake me when you are tired,” Loxley said. “I slept well enough last night.” That was another lie, but Loxley knew that Gisburne needed sleep more than he did.

Gisburne gave a curt nod and walked briskly to the stables. Loxley finished his drink and then sought out the bed he would be sharing with a merchant and another pilgrim.

 

 

Loxley woke to see the first faint rays of sunrise glowing through the shuttered window. He sat up quickly, and the pilgrim gave a disgruntled moan as the movement jostled the mattress. The merchant continued to snore loudly, his sleep uninterrupted. Loxley looked around the darkened chamber, but he didn’t see Gisburne. He rose carefully from the bed, trying not to disturb the pilgrim any further, and headed downstairs.

It wasn’t the first time Gisburne had failed to wake him when it was time for his watch. Even when Loxley had the first watch, he found that Gisburne slept little or was already awake when he called out to him. Loxley had never dared to touch Gisburne’s shoulder to nudge him awake. He was sure that if he betrayed their agreement, he would destroy what little trust existed between them.

Loxley began to grow concerned when he couldn’t find Gisburne inside the inn. Had Gisburne been beaten and robbed when he’d gone out to the stables? Had Gisburne gone off on his own after finally losing patience with his enemy? Loxley looked out a window and stopped in his tracks when he saw Gisburne standing in the kitchen garden. Loxley gaped at Gisburne, bewildered. Then, losing his temper, he stormed into the garden.

“You were supposed to wake me,” Loxley said.

Gisburne stared at Loxley in surprise. “I wasn’t tired. I thought it would be better to let you sleep.”

“Well, it wasn’t. You need sleep more than I do, Gisburne.”

Gisburne rolled his eyes. “Because of my sacred quest?”

“No, because you’re falling apart!” Loxley shouted.

Gisburne’s eyes widened for an instant before he forced out a laugh. “That’s ridiculous.”

Loxley gripped Gisburne by his surcoat. “You’re not sleeping and you’re barely eating! You’ve lost at least a stone in weight!”

“Let go of me,” Gisburne growled. He pushed Loxley’s shoulder and broke away from his grasp, but Loxley only grabbed him again.

“You’re not going to last much longer if you continue like this.”

“It’s not your concern.”

“It _is_ my concern if you die before we find a place to bury Baphomet!” Loxley said. Then his head reeled back as Gisburne punched him. Loxley lay there for a moment before he wiped away the blood that trickled from one nostril. “It has to be you, Gisburne. I can’t do it for you. What do you need? Drink? A priest? A brothel? What? How can I help you? What do you need?”

Loxley wasn’t sure if Gisburne would give him an answer. When Gisburne did speak at last, Loxley had to strain his ears to hear that one faint word.

“Death.”

Loxley threw up his hands in frustration. “I just told you – ”

“Not now,” Gisburne said. “Afterwards. I’ll try to go on if you kill me once it’s over.”

“ _What_?”

“I-I don’t think I can do it myself. It’s a sin in the eyes of the Church, though I suppose I’m already destined for hell.”

Loxley couldn’t believe it. After all of the things he had done, Gisburne was worried about offending the Church by taking his own life. “This isn’t like you, Guy. You never give up. You’ve always found a reason to go on, to keep fighting.”

“For what?” Gisburne spat. “There’s nothing!”

Loxley stared at Gisburne, too stunned to speak. Then he came to a startling realization. During their journey, Gisburne had caused so little strife, and had put up almost no resistance, because he had simply stopped caring – about everything. Loxley stood up slowly, making sure to keep some distance between himself and Gisburne. “I don’t know what happened before...before you found yourself in Baphomet’s power, but whatever it was couldn’t have been so terrible that you can’t start again and make a new life for yourself.”

Gisburne scowled. “Oh, yes. Bow and scrape before another master, become his whipping boy, his slave, instead.”

“Then choose another path,” Loxley said. “Don’t become a steward again. You can be free if you choose to be.”

Gisburne shook his head. “No man is free, not even you. It was Herne who sent you, wasn’t it? He’s still your master, isn’t he?”

Loxley frowned. “It’s still freedom if you choose to serve.”

“Yes,” Gisburne said, “I used to believe that too.”

Loxley sighed and rubbed his face with both hands. “Is killing you the only way I can help you because I don’t believe that.”

“If you kill me when this is over, I’ll try to eat and sleep more. I promise.”

There was a look in Gisburne’s eyes that Loxley didn’t like. He thought it might have been hope. “All right. If that’s still what you want when all this is over, I’ll do it. I give you my word.” Loxley held out his hand before he could stop himself. He saw it as a sign of desperation when Gisburne actually reached out to take it, as brief as the gesture was.

“I should make my way to the cathedral,” Gisburne said, face flushed in embarrassment. “I suppose you’d better take the box.”

“Yes, perhaps that would be best.” Loxley plucked the pouch from Gisburne’s fingers, trying to avoid further physical contact. That was when Loxley was reminded of the bed Gisburne would have been forced to share with the merchant and the pilgrim if he himself hadn’t taken the first and only watch. Loxley cursed himself for being such a fool.

“What’s the matter?” Gisburne asked, and Loxley realized that Gisburne must have seen the guilty expression on his face.

“Nothing. Where should I meet you? Outside the cathedral?”

Gisburne was still looking at Loxley suspiciously. “No. You might come across another pardoner. You’d better stay here.”

 

 

Loxley had just eaten some bread and had drunk half a cup of ale when Gisburne returned to the inn and sat down on the bench across from him. Loxley raised his eyebrows in surprise. He hadn’t expected to see Gisburne so soon. Surely Gisburne hadn’t had enough time to visit Thomas Becket’s tomb and travel to and from the cathedral.

“You’re right,” Gisburne said. “I should speak to a priest.”

Loxley frowned in confusion. “Couldn’t you have spoken to a priest at Canterbury?”

“I turned back before I’d even reached the cathedral. The priest I need to speak to isn’t at Canterbury.”

“All right. Where is he, then?”

“His church is just outside Rouen.”

Loxley’s brow furrowed. “Is that in France?”

“In Normandy, yes.”

Loxley picked up his cup and nearly drained it. “You can’t find a priest in England?”

“Not one that knows about the Knights of the Apocalypse and Baphomet.” Gisburne’s eyes were on the table and he was running his finger along a crack in the wood. “Father Audric tried to dissuade me from joining the Knights of the Apocalypse. De Montbalm, the Grandmaster, even asked Father Audric to be his chaplain, and Father Audric refused. I think I can trust him.”

Loxley thought that he might also be willing to trust Father Audric if he had had enough sense to refuse a position in the Knights of the Apocalypse and had tried to dissuade others from joining the order.

“Is Father Audric’s church close to the preceptory?” Loxley asked.

Gisburne was still studying the crack in the table. “There’s only about a mile between them.”

Loxley grimaced. That was a lot closer to the preceptory than he would have liked.

Gisburne lifted his eyes from the table. “I doubt there are many knights left in Normandy. Most of them travelled to England with de Montbalm and were killed in the battle.”

“But de Montbalm wouldn’t have left the preceptory defenceless, and the surviving knights may have recruited more men since the battle. If any of them recognized you and found the box – ”

“I’ll wear a disguise, conceal my face. There shouldn’t be any danger.”

Loxley shook his head. “No, there _will_ be danger, but we might escape their notice if we’re careful. And you will need a disguise. You can no longer be a knight. Even if they fail to recognize you, they might still approach you if they’re trying to increase their numbers. After all, they did it once before, didn’t they?”

Gisburne either ignored the jibe or missed it altogether because he sat up straighter and there was an excited glint in his eyes. “You’d be willing to travel to Normandy, then?”

Loxley sighed. “If what you’ve told me about Father Audric is true, I don’t think we have any other choice.”

Gisburne rose from the table. “If we leave now, we might reach Dover by midday.”

Loxley didn’t move from his bench. “We’re not going anywhere until you eat.”

Gisburne glared at Loxley sullenly.

“You gave me your word, Guy. Don’t tell me you’re going to break your promise already.”

Gisburne slowly sat down again. “I suppose I should eat before our journey.”

“Good,” Loxley said. “Then we’ll see what we can do about your disguise.”

 

 

Only Gisburne could still manage to look like a nobleman while wearing a broad-brimmed cloth hat, a worn tunic with holes, and a coarse woollen cloak, Loxley thought as Gisburne stood at the bow of the ship speaking to the captain. They had stolen Gisburne’s new clothes from a house near the inn. Loxley had placed some pennies outside the door while Gisburne had ripped the clothes off the clothesline. Although Gisburne had been anxious to reach Dover, Loxley had insisted that he change first, so Gisburne had donned his disguise once they had left Canterbury and it was convenient to do so. They had arrived in Dover early that afternoon, but had needed to wait until nearly nightfall before their ship sailed out of port.

As the ship rocked on the rough waves of the Channel, Loxley hoped that he might feel less queasy if he couldn’t see the rolling sea in the fading light. Unfortunately, the ship was being tossed around so much that the growing darkness didn’t make much difference. In fact, it seemed to make the situation worse.

Loxley could see why the ship’s crew had no trouble staying on their feet, but he couldn’t understand why Gisburne wasn’t struggling to keep his balance. Perhaps it was enough that Gisburne had crossed the Channel before and was accustomed to travelling by sea. Loxley knew that it was probably apparent to everyone on the ship that this was his first sea voyage. For that matter, it was the first time that Loxley had left England.

When Loxley heard the captain bark out an order in French, he realized that he would be practically useless in Normandy because he didn’t speak the language. He would have to rely entirely on Gisburne. He would have to trust him, be completely at his mercy. As Gisburne concluded his conversation with the captain, Loxley tried to suppress the resentment and panic that was welling up inside him. Loxley watched Gisburne make his way across the swaying ship, expecting to see him fall, but Gisburne barely stumbled. Before he could stop himself, Loxley said, “How do you do that?”

“Do what?” Gisburne asked.

“Walk so steadily across the deck.”

“Oh, that. I just move with the ship. If you try to fight its motion, it’s much more difficult to stay on your feet.”

Loxley fought the urge to heave up the contents of his stomach as the ship lurched violently. “I’ll have to remember that,” he muttered.

Gisburne’s lips twitched. “I suggest you move as little as possible or you’re likely to be sick.”

Loxley winced. “Is it that obvious?”

Gisburne was smirking now. “The captain said it would be best if you lay down and tried to get some sleep. There really isn’t anything else you can do.”

Loxley pressed a hand to his stomach and shook his head. “I won’t sleep again until I’m on dry land.”

“Then at least lie flat on your back. It will help with the seasickness.” Gisburne removed his hat and tossed it at Loxley. “Here. You can use this bloody hat for a pillow. If it flies into the Channel that would be even better.”

“You might have need of it in Normandy,” Loxley said, though he kept the hat all the same and placed it under his head to cushion it from the planks beneath him. He looked up as Gisburne sat down on the deck, leaning against some barrels. Loxley closed his eyes, though he knew sleep wasn’t coming. “Why did you join the Knights of the Apocalypse?”

There was a long stretch of silence in which Loxley could only hear the splash of waves and the creaking of the ship. Then Gisburne spoke. “While I was in Normandy fighting in the King’s campaign, I had a lot of time to think about Nottingham and my position with the Sheriff. I knew it was only a matter of time before de Rainault betrayed me again, so I decided to betray him first. There was no future for me in Nottingham, but I could have wealth and position as a Knight of the Apocalypse.”

Loxley opened his eyes, though he found it hard to see Gisburne’s face as the sun had nearly set. “You didn’t fear that one of the knights might betray you?”

“No. They were my brothers. I trusted them. You can’t fight alongside another man and not trust him.”

Loxley smiled to himself, thinking of his friends in Sherwood. “Yes, I know.”

“I’m sure it must seem foolish after...after everything that happened,” Gisburne said. “I wish to God I had taken my chances with the Sheriff instead. Losing my head doesn’t seem like such a miserable prospect now.”

Loxley wanted to say something, but words wouldn’t even form in his head. By the time he was able to dredge up some empty platitudes, Gisburne was slumped against the barrels, fast asleep. Loxley didn’t know if it was pure exhaustion or the rocking motion of the ship that had lulled the man to sleep, but he was glad that Gisburne was finally getting the rest he needed. They had a long journey ahead of them.

 

 

It was still night when they reached Calais, so Loxley’s first impression of France as they left the ship was that it was a dark, windy place where the ground wasn’t steady beneath one’s feet. He was astonished when he felt a hand on his elbow and found Gisburne steering him to a large boulder on the beach. Loxley didn’t put up much resistance as Gisburne pushed him down on it.

“Stay here while I see to the horses,” Gisburne said. “You’re no use to me until you recover. Guisnes is not far. I think we can reach it by morning – assuming you’re fit to ride.”

Loxley nodded, feeling too sick to argue.

It took them nearly three days to reach the Abbey of Saint-Étienne, during which time Loxley discovered that the sun shone quite a bit in France and that it wasn’t much different camping in a French forest as it was camping in an English one. They spoke to few people on their journey and, outside of the towns, came across mostly peasants working the land. Loxley heard Gisburne speak barely any French until they were at the abbey gates and Gisburne was asking to see Father Audric. A young novice, who couldn’t have been more than eighteen, opened the gates and admitted them into the abbey. There was a rapid flood of French in response to Gisburne’s question, and the only two words that Loxley understood were “Père Audric.”

Gisburne rolled his eyes as the novice led them into the abbey. “He says that he doesn’t know where Father Audric might be. As it’s after Terce, Father Audric might have gone to the library. Then again, Father Audric could be tending to his garden as it’s such a beautiful day. He is certain that Father Audric is somewhere in the abbey, and he has offered to help us find him.”

Loxley studied the novice’s back skeptically. “Are we grateful for his help?”

“I’m not sure yet,” Gisburne said.

Surprisingly, they found Father Audric quite quickly. When they reached the cloister, Father Audric was walking several feet ahead of them. The novice called out to him, running along the arcade. When the novice had caught up to Father Audric, he gestured at Loxley and Gisburne, speaking spiritedly. Father Audric patted the young man on the shoulder and sent him away. Then he retraced his steps and headed back in the direction from which he had come. As Loxley took in Father Audric’s greying hair and gnarled fingers, he realized that the priest was older than he had expected. However, there was intelligence in those dark eyes.

Father Audric grasped Gisburne’s hands warmly, though he frowned and tilted his head as he peered at Gisburne’s face. Although Loxley couldn’t understand the exchange, he could detect the kindly tone in Father Audric’s low soothing voice. Then Father Audric was tugging on Gisburne’s wrist and leading him to one of the arcade arches that provided an alcove where they could sit. Loxley moved to another arch to give them some privacy – not that he was likely to understand anything he might overhear.

Loxley let the torrent of French wash over him as he stood gazing out into the courtyard. He found his mind wandering as he stared out at the verdant rectangle, so he couldn’t be sure when the cloaked figure appeared in the arcade on the other side of the courtyard. He knew instantly that it wasn’t a monk. His hand was moving to his sword when he caught sight of the long golden hair that had escaped the confines of the hood. Loxley stared harder at the figure. No, her hair was copper. It must have been the sunlight that had made it seem fair.

The woman lifted a pale bare arm to beckon to Loxley before she faded into the shadows of the cloister and simply disappeared. Loxley blinked and shook his head, wondering if he had just had a vision or if, in his weariness, he was allowing his imagination to run wild. Loxley was so engrossed in his thoughts that he didn’t realize Gisburne was talking about him until he heard him say, “Il s’appelle Robin de Loxley.”

“Il est anglais?” Father Audric asked as Loxley walked over to them.

“Oui.”

Father Audric stood and shook hands with Loxley. “Good day. My English is not good.”

Loxley smiled. “That’s all right. I can’t speak a word of French.”

Father Audric looked at Gisburne questioningly and then laughed when Gisburne translated what Loxley had said.

When the conversation resumed, Loxley returned to his arch, but he couldn’t help listening this time, especially when Father Audric muttered, “Mon Dieu! Mon Dieu!” Loxley also heard Father Audric say “Saint Michel” several times, and he wondered if Father Audric was trying to invoke protection. As the two men stood to part, Father Audric embraced Gisburne, who stiffened but didn’t pull away. Then Loxley saw Father Audric whisper something to Gisburne before he stepped back, raised his hand, and said, “In nomine Patris et Filii et Spiritus Sancti.”

“What did you tell Father Audric?” Loxley asked as they walked out of the cloister.

Gisburne waited until they were well out of earshot before he spoke. “As much as I dared. I said that I feared for my life because I believe that Baphomet wishes to harm me. Father Audric said that I must seek protection from the Archangel Michael because he defeated Satan. I must appeal to Saint Michael for guidance and strength.”

Loxley studied Gisburne, sensing that he was holding something back. “He didn’t ask why you fear Baphomet?”

Gisburne sighed. “He didn’t have to. He assumed that Baphomet had been released from the statue.”

Loxley froze and grabbed Gisburne’s arm. “Does he know that we have Baphomet?”

Gisburne blushed, ducking his head. “I had to tell him. I was afraid he’d have the whole abbey praying for the world’s salvation if he thought Baphomet was free. Then what would happen if word spread beyond the abbey and reached the preceptory?”

Loxley released Gisburne’s arm. “All right. I can see you had no choice. What else did Father Audric say?”

“He told me to travel to the Abbey of Mont Saint-Michel, which is a very holy place. The Archangel Michael commanded that it be built on top of the island when he appeared before the Bishop of Avranches.”

Loxley raised his eyebrows. “Island?”

“The island of Mont Saint-Michel. It can be reached at low tide.”

Loxley frowned. “Where exactly is this island?”

“It’s a few days’ ride from here,” Gisburne said. “It’s close to Brittany.”

“Does Father Audric believe that you should bury the box at the abbey?” Loxley asked.

Gisburne shrugged. “He said I must do what my conscience tells me.”

Loxley winced inwardly. As Gisburne didn’t have a conscience, that could be a challenge.

When they reached the stables, Gisburne stopped outside and turned to Loxley. “What if I don’t know what my conscience is telling me?” he asked, as if he’d read Loxley’s thoughts.

Loxley looked off into the distance, watching a barn swallow swoop gracefully in the air. “You’ll know because it will feel right. Herne said that you’ll find where Baphomet must be buried when you no longer fear him. If you believe you have the protection of Saint Michael that might be enough.”

Gisburne said nothing, but stood, looking pensive. Loxley headed inside the stables and began saddling his horse. Gisburne was still silent when he followed Loxley into the stables a moment later. It wasn’t until Gisburne was buckling his horse’s bridle that he said, “You haven’t asked what Father Audric whispered to me.”

Loxley glanced at Gisburne in surprise. “As he was whispering, I assumed that it wasn’t for my ears. I won’t ask you to tell me what he said.”

Gisburne paused in his task, though his gaze remained fixed on the bridle. “He said that we’re in mortal peril as long as we’re in possession of Baphomet.”

“Well, we’ve known that from the beginning, haven’t we?” Loxley said.

Gisburne looked up, meeting Loxley’s eyes. “He also said that not all devils possess horns and that they can appear in familiar forms. He warned us to be vigilant and to guard our souls.” 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a sequel to [Thrall](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11510295) and started off as a Christmas present for [raven714](http://raven714.livejournal.com/). It probably won’t make much sense if you haven’t read [Thrall](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11510295) as it takes place directly after it and deals with the events of that story. Obviously, this second installment has come quite a bit after Christmas, so I apologize for that. I had hoped to post it in February (at the latest), but my two night courses have been keeping me pretty busy. I also apologize for any inaccuracies that crop up in the scenes taking place at the Abbey of Mont Saint-Michel. I’ve never been fortunate enough to visit the place, so I’ve had to rely on photos, descriptions, and maps of the layout that were often confusing because they weren’t very detailed or included new sections of the abbey (such as the Merveille) that didn’t exist in the early thirteenth century. If you’re familiar with the Abbey of Mont Saint-Michel and come across any glaring errors, could you please let me know? Then, if possible, I will try to fix them.
> 
> This takes place shortly after [The Knights of the Apocalypse](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Robin_of_Sherwood:_The_Knights_Of_The_Apocalypse%20). 
> 
> This story is based on Richard Carpenter's series _Robin of Sherwood_. The characters are the property of Richard Carpenter, Robin May, Anthony Horowitz and the RoS production team. This is also based on “The Knights of the Apocalypse” audio adventure, which was based on an original script by Richard Carpenter, directed by Robert Young and produced by Barnaby Eaton-Jones, not to mention the novel written by Jonathan Green.
> 
> The exceptional cover art for this story was created by raven714. You can find more of her beautiful RoS artwork and fanvids [here](http://raven714.livejournal.com).
> 
>  
> 
> * * *

  


 

  
  


They had just passed through Lisieux when Loxley realized that they were being followed. As he turned his head to look, he saw that Gisburne was also glancing over his shoulder.

“You feel it too?” Loxley asked.

Gisburne’s head whirled around. “Feel what?”

“That we’re being followed.”

Gisburne drew himself up in the saddle, looking uneasy. “I thought I might be imagining it.”

“No,” Loxley said. “I don’t think you are.”

Gisburne cast another look back. “Do you think they followed us from Rouen?”

“No, I would have noticed them sooner if they had. I’m sure you would have noticed them too.” Loxley’s fingers clenched around his horse’s reins. “You may have been seen at Saint-Étienne, but the pursuit didn’t begin there. Word must have been sent from either the abbey or the preceptory to men near here, perhaps in Lisieux. Someone must have overheard our conversation at the stables and picked out the name ‘Mont Saint-Michel’. We need to flush them out and discover who we’re dealing with.” Loxley studied the terrain, searching for any trees along the road that they could use for cover, but all he saw were hedges. Loxley knew that even if he could convince Gisburne to hide in a hedge, they wouldn’t be able to conceal the horses. Loxley wondered if he could lay an ambush himself if he sent Gisburne on ahead with both horses.

“You’re planning an attack, aren’t you?” Gisburne said. “This isn’t Sherwood, Loxley. Your tactics won’t work here.”

Loxley sighed. “Then we’ll keep riding until we reach a place where the road is lined with trees.”

“I’ve been to this part of Normandy before. It’s all farmland. You might not see a tree that close to the road for miles.”

Loxley struck his fist against the pommel of his saddle. “They probably have fresh horses. I doubt we could outride them. Even if we did, I don’t know how we’d lose them on open ground.”

“Then we’ll just have to face them,” Gisburne said. His voice was calm, even resigned, and Loxley didn’t know if this was because Gisburne was a soldier or because he’d lost the will to go on.

“I know you no longer wish to live, but – ”

“No, it isn’t that. I just think there’s no other course of action we can take.”

Loxley sighed again and nodded. He knew Gisburne was right. “What will you say to them if they are Knights of the Apocalypse? Will you admit that you’re one of them?”

Gisburne’s lips twitched and he smiled grimly. “If they’re pursuing us, I’d imagine they know already, especially if we were spotted at Saint-Étienne. I’ll greet them as brothers and tell them that I’m travelling to the Abbey of Mont Saint-Michel in order to seek forgiveness.”

Loxley’s brow creased. “Forgiveness?”

“For not being able to save de Montbalm or any of my brothers. I’m sure they’d like that.”

Loxley pulled sharply on the reins, halting his horse. “If you admit that you were at the preceptory when de Montbalm died, they might ask you about Baphomet.”

Gisburne stopped his horse and wheeled around to face Loxley. “Do you think they know that Baphomet escaped?”

“No, but they may ask you why you didn’t save the statue and return it to the preceptory in Normandy.”

Gisburne frowned for an instant as he thought. “I’ll say that I couldn’t find it after the battle, that it must have been stolen.”

“No, tell them that the statue was destroyed during the battle, or they might send you back to England to find it.” Loxley swung down from his saddle and walked over to Gisburne’s horse, opening the saddlebag. “We’re hiding the box. I don’t want them to find it on us if they capture us and decide to search our possessions.”

“All right, but don’t be long,” Gisburne said. “They’ll be here soon.”

Loxley ran farther up the road, placing the box under the nearest hedge. He then grabbed a stick and stuck it in the grass beside the hedge, scattering a few stones around it. He wanted to be able to identify the hedge again in case he couldn’t return to it right away.

“Loxley!”

Loxley sprang up from the ground and rushed back to his horse. The three men were still several feet away, but Loxley could make out the distinct device on their surcoats. “If they ask us why we’ve stopped – ”

“I’ll tell them that you thought your horse had thrown a shoe,” Gisburne said. “We were about to continue on our journey when we heard the sound of men approaching. Naturally, when we realized they were Knights of the Apocalypse, we waited here to greet them.”

Loxley nodded absently, his eyes still fixed on the knights approaching them. He felt that nothing good could come from this meeting, but he could think of no other plan. He rested his hand on his sword hilt and waited.

When the knights were only about twenty feet away, Gisburne addressed them in Latin, and Loxley gaped at him in surprise. One of the knights responded to Gisburne in the same language, and Loxley decided that the words they were exchanging must be a formal greeting that all Knights of the Apocalypse shared. The language soon switched to French, and Loxley observed both Gisburne and the knights closely.

While Loxley couldn’t understand French, he could read the expressions and gauge the mood of the conversation by everyone’s postures. Gisburne appeared untroubled, and the Knights of the Apocalypse seemed interested in what he had to say. One of the knights reminded Loxley of Heinrich von Erlichshausen, the Templar he had fought in the village of Bystead. The man had a large build and a prominent scar that ran down one cheek. This one knight, who appeared to have authority over the other two, was leaning forward in the saddle, his head tilted slightly. The knight asked several questions, which Gisburne answered readily enough. Loxley only heard Gisburne falter once, and he didn’t know if it was for effect or if Gisburne had been trying to come up with a suitable lie.

The interrogation seemed to last forever, so Loxley was amazed when it finally concluded without a single sword being raised. As they watched the knights ride back towards Lisieux, Loxley noticed that Gisburne seemed as astonished as he did.

Thinking of the knight with the scar, Loxley asked, “Who was the one who questioned you?”

“His name is de Sancerre and he wanted to know why I didn’t present myself to my brothers while I was in Rouen,” Gisburne said. “We were seen at Saint- Étienne. I was recognized by a monk who had seen me there before.”

Loxley muttered a curse under his breath. “Do they know that you spoke to Father Audric?”

“I told de Sancerre that I couldn’t remember the name of the priest who took my confession, but that he was a young man with dark hair, a description that should match at least half of the monks in Saint- Étienne.”

Loxley relaxed slightly. “That’s good. How did you explain your failure to visit the preceptory.”

“I told de Sancerre that I was too ashamed to face them when I had survived the battle in the preceptory and everyone else had died. De Sancerre knew about the battle because the acting Grandmaster had sent knights to England to discover why they hadn’t received word from de Montbalm.” Gisburne tossed a look over his shoulder. “Where’s the box? Shouldn’t you retrieve it?”

“In a moment,” Loxley said. “What else did you tell de Sancerre?”

“I told him that I’d become a pilgrim in order to seek God’s forgiveness, but that I had been unable to gain either peace or salvation at any of the churches that I’d visited in England. I explained that I’d chosen to travel to Normandy to seek advice from a priest in the church closest to my brothers. The priest I spoke to said I should go to the Abbey of Mont Saint-Michel because it’s such a sacred place.”

Loxley smiled to himself, impressed that Gisburne had been able to stick so closely to the truth while spinning out all those lies. “Did he ask about the statue?”

Gisburne massaged the bridge of his nose. “Yes, he did. The questions were endless, but I think he bought my story. De Sancerre offered to escort us on our journey. Fortunately, I think I was able to decline the invitation without offending him. I said that this was a journey that I needed to complete on my own and that I had no wish to inconvenience them when I knew they had more important matters to attend to.”

Loxley’s eyes widened. “And de Sancerre accepted that?”

“He left, didn’t he?” Gisburne said.

Loxley exhaled heavily, his breath ruffling his hair. “You’re quite the storyteller, Gisburne. Maybe you should have been a bard instead of a knight.”

Gisburne glared at Loxley. “Would you have preferred to kill them? It’s not too late. They haven’t gone far.”

Loxley shook his head. “No. Their bodies would create even more trouble. I would think that the Knights of the Apocalypse would search throughout Normandy and France for their brothers’ killers, and an innocent man would be accused of murder.” Loxley gazed into the distance at the knights, who were now only tiny specks. “I just wish I knew whether de Sancerre really did believe your story. I wouldn’t have thought that he was a particularly trusting man. I’m concerned about what he might do next.”

 

 

They lost the bright sunshine and soft, gentle breezes after they rode through Clécy. As they continued on their journey, the sky only grew darker, the clouds turning an angry steely grey. It was pouring rain when they reached Avranches. As the fat drops began to fall, Loxley looked at Gisburne, wondering if he would insist that they seek shelter, but Gisburne only pulled his hat down lower and pressed on. As Loxley’s hood became soaked, he tried to ignore the water that dripped down his cheeks and off the tip of his nose. When they came across a wagon stuck in the mud, Loxley almost welcomed the distraction, even though that same wagon was blocking the road.

Gisburne glared at the wagon and then shifted his angry gaze to the two hapless farmers who were struggling to extricate the wagon from the mud. However, before Gisburne had the chance to complain, one of the men addressed him.

“What did he say?” Loxley asked.

Gisburne sighed. “He wants us to help them move the wagon out of the mud.”

The farmer stared up at them. “Vous êtes anglais?”

Loxley and Gisburne exchanged a wary glance before Gisburne tentatively answered. “Oui.”

The farmer shrugged and spoke so rapidly that Loxley feared Gisburne wouldn’t be able to understand him, but Gisburne was able to respond to the farmer, even if his speech was somewhat slower. When Gisburne turned back to him, Loxley could have sworn that he was struggling not to smile.

“He says that an Englishman should be able to push a wagon about as well as a Frenchman, though, naturally, a Frenchman has more muscles,” Gisburne said.

Loxley grinned. “It’s very kind of him to accept our help, despite our shortcomings.”

“He’s willing to make it worth our trouble. He’s offering us food and shelter for the night.”

“It seems like a reasonable bargain to me,” Loxley said. “Will you tell him that?”

Gisburne was already dismounting his horse. “Of course I will. I don’t want to be stuck in this rain anymore than you do.”

As Loxley joined Gisburne and their two new friends, he wasn’t entirely surprised when Gisburne chose the less menial task and grabbed the horse’s bridle instead of moving behind the wagon. However, the farmers didn’t seem to mind, and Loxley could take satisfaction in knowing that Gisburne would probably end up being as filthy as the rest of them when the work was done. He tried to remember that as he waded through the thick mud to reach the back of the wagon, almost losing a boot as he did so.

The man who had asked for their help gave Loxley a sympathetic look and held out his hand. “Jehan.”

Loxley took Jehan’s hand. “Robin.”

The second man peered around Jehan. “Renaut,” he said.

Loxley smiled and nodded at Renaut, who had to be Jehan’s brother. Both men had dark curly hair and light blue eyes. They might have passed for twins if Renaut had been taller and shared Jehan’s brawnier frame.

Jehan shouted something to Gisburne and then held up three fingers to Loxley. “Sur le compte de trois, mon ami.”

Loxley raised three fingers to show Jehan that he understood. “Oui.”

“Un.”

Loxley planted his feet as squarely as he could in the mud.

“Deux.”

Loxley pressed his hands against the wagon.

“Trois.”

Loxley gritted his teeth and pushed as hard as he could. They succeeded in moving the wagon, but not far enough. It was still stuck in the mud.

“Encore!” Jehan cried and Loxley didn’t need a translation to understand what he’d said.

Loxley put his full weight against the wagon and tried even harder. When they finally managed to free the wagon from the mud, there was sweat running down Loxley’s face, along with the rain, and his arms were trembling from the strain. He nearly fell over when Jehan slapped him jovially on the back. Then Jehan was taking Loxley’s wrist and raising his arm above his head, as if Loxley had won a great victory. “Vous êtes un Hercule!”

Loxley laughed and playfully took a bow.

When they reached Jehan and Renaut’s home, they were met by a young woman named Felise, who had rosy cheeks, mischievous eyes, and hair that was even fairer than Gisburne’s. Loxley assumed that Felise was married to one of the brothers, but he couldn’t determine which one was the husband as Felise kissed both men on the cheek with the same degree of affection. Then Felise was scolding both men in equal measure when she realized that they were soaked to the skin and their clothes were covered in mud. Jehan shouted back at her, gesticulating wildly and pointing at their guests. Loxley didn’t bother asking Gisburne for a translation. It was obvious that Jehan was telling Felise about the wagon. Jehan hadn’t even finished his tale before Felise was fussing over Loxley and Gisburne and dragging them over to the fire. They weren’t there for long before Felise was shoving dry clothing into their arms.

“She wants us to change,” Gisburne said.

Loxley glanced at the sleeve of the linen tunic that was dangling from Gisburne’s pile of clothing. “Yes, I’d gathered as much.”

Gisburne grabbed the sleeve and tucked it back into the pile. “She says she’ll wash our clothing and hang everything to dry.”

“That’s very good of her,” Loxley said. “I hope you expressed our appreciation.”

Gisburne looked at Loxley incredulously. “You heard her. I didn’t have a chance to express anything!”

It was while they were changing that Loxley first spotted a small boy playing with a spinning top under the table. The boy couldn’t have been more than three or four, and he had his mother’s fair hair and rosy cheeks. When Renaut followed the direction of Loxley’s gaze, he cried, “Rémy! Que fais-tu sous la table?”

Rémy giggled and shot out from under the table, throwing his arms around Renaut’s legs. Loxley had just reached the conclusion that it must be Renaut who was married to Felise when Rémy launched himself at Jehan and embraced him as well.

If the fire and dry clothes had failed to warm them, Felise’s hearty supper would have been enough to drive away the chill from the rain. It had been days since they had dined so well – and the supper at the inn in Canterbury couldn’t compare to the meal that Felise had prepared. Even Gisburne seemed to be in good spirits. There was a bit of colour in his cheeks, and he actually laughed at something Jehan said. Of course, the wine that Renaut kept pouring into his cup might have also explained the change in Gisburne’s mood.

Loxley wasn’t surprised when their accommodation for the night turned out to be the barn, but Felise gave them thick blankets to make up their beds. As Gisburne was rather the worse for drink, he didn’t argue when Loxley insisted on taking the first watch. Gisburne simply wrapped himself in one of the blankets and settled in the hay.

Although Loxley had drunk far less than Gisburne, he still felt drowsy after the large meal and all of the work he had done earlier to help free the wagon from the mud. He tried to keep his eyes open, but he found it impossible to fight the lure of sleep. The next thing Loxley knew, he was standing in the middle of a field as the first rays of dawn were hitting the ears of barley and bathing them in light. He thought he saw something flutter from the corner of his eye and caught sight of a woman off to his right. Her arms were bare and her hair flowed all the way down her back. At first, the woman’s long tresses seemed as dark as his own hair. Then the sun rose higher in the sky, and the brown changed to auburn before shifting again into a rich copper.

“It’s you,” Loxley said, recognizing the woman he had seen in the Saint-Étienne cloister.

The woman nodded but didn’t speak.

“Are you here to help us?” Loxley asked. “Are we meant to help you?”

The woman smiled and opened her arms wide. Without thinking, Loxley took a step towards her. The woman laughed and started running across the field.

“No, wait!” Loxley took off after the woman, but he couldn’t catch up with her, no matter how fast he ran. He stumbled and tripped, falling into the barley. When he raised himself back on his feet again, it was to see the copper hair turn white and the gown ripple in the wind as the cloth became a tail. For an instant, Loxley saw a flash of bare skin before human flesh melded into withers, flank and rump, and the woman transformed into a beautiful white mare. Loxley stared at the horse, captivated, then flinched when he felt a hand on his shoulder.

“Robin.”

Loxley’s eyes flew open, and he found Gisburne standing over him, lit only by what little moonlight was coming through the gap between the barn doors. “Did you just call me – ”

“I tried to wake you several times, but you wouldn’t stir,” Gisburne said. “‘Robin’ wasn’t the first name I called you.”

Loxley rubbed his face with both hands, trying to clear his head. “Did I wake you?”

“Why else would I be standing here? You were talking in your sleep.”

“Sorry,” Loxley said. “I must have been dreaming.”

“Was it a dream?” Gisburne asked.

Loxley’s head snapped up. “What?”

“I’ve heard stories that both you and Huntingdon have visions of what is to come.”

Loxley pressed a hand to his forehead, wondering where this discussion was leading. “And you believe them?”

“No, not at first, but then I realized that you were able to anticipate events, that you had knowledge of things you should have known nothing about.” Gisburne paused and Loxley could sense his discomfort. “I assume it’s because of Herne.”

“Usually, yes,” Loxley said, “though I’ve been able to see things all my life.”

“Was it a vision that you just saw?”

“It might have been, but it made no sense. If it was a vision, I don’t know what it means.”

 

 

The next morning, Loxley didn’t need to speak French to know that neither Jehan nor Renaut thought that visiting the abbey was a good idea. He had seen it in their eyes when Gisburne had finally told them of his intention to visit Mont Saint-Michel. Jehan and Renaut had both started speaking at once, the volume of their voices drawing Felise into the conversation. She began pleading directly to Gisburne, who stared back her, stunned. Rémy, upset and confused by the raised voices, burst into tears. Loxley picked up the little boy and carried him outside. They were playing with Rémy’s spinning top when Gisburne stepped out of the house looking dazed.

“What happened in there?” Loxley asked.

Gisburne sighed. “They’re concerned about our visit to the abbey.”

“Well, I’d worked out that much!”

“It’s a dangerous journey. Some pilgrims call the island ‘Saint Michael in peril of the sea’ because of the number of men who have drowned when the tide has swept in. Pilgrims are told to make a will in case they don’t make it back.”

Loxley frowned. “I’m surprised Father Audric didn’t think to warn you of the dangers...Oh. He did tell you, didn’t he?”

“He’s an old man,” Gisburne said. “I thought he was being overly cautious. He was the one who told me to go there. Why would he do that if he thought it was too dangerous?”

Loxley gazed pointedly at the house. “Our hosts don’t seem to agree.”

Gisburne glanced at Rémy, who was dragging a large stick in the dirt. “Felise’s cousin was among a group of pilgrims who drowned in the bay.”

“Oh,” Loxley said.

“Jehan said that if we’re going to visit the abbey today, we should leave at once. We’ll have to go on foot, obviously, but the journey shouldn’t take long. Renaut said he’ll look after our horses while we’re gone.”

Loxley gave a quick laugh. “Well, I suppose that saves us from having to write our wills as the horses are our only real possessions other than our swords.” He thought Gisburne might lose his temper, but Gisburne’s expression betrayed nothing.

“I understand if you no longer wish to accompany me,” Gisburne said, “but I’m going, Loxley. I have no choice.”

“Why? Because Father Audric told you to go?”

“No, because I’m not afraid.”

Loxley sighed impatiently. “No one’s asking you to prove anything, Gisburne.”

“No, you don’t understand. I’m not afraid of Baphomet. For the first time in weeks, I don’t fear him. That has to be a sign, doesn’t it?”

Eyes wide, Loxley nodded mutely.

“Then that’s what I’ll do,” Gisburne said. “If I don’t survive, they can keep my horse. I’d-I’d prefer it if you didn’t sell him.”

Loxley smiled. “You’ll have to tell them that yourself because I’ll be going with you. We’ve come this far together. Do you really think I’d abandon you now?”

 

 

“God’s Teeth,” Gisburne said. “This is worse than Canterbury.” He had just batted away another medallion that had been shoved in his face, and Loxley could see that his patience was wearing dangerously thin. Loxley hoped he could prevent Gisburne from killing a peddler before they reached the abbey, a seemingly impossible task given the number of peddlers in the village. Loxley could understand why Gisburne wasn’t in the most favourable mood. They had walked nearly two hours to reach the bay, only to discover that they would have to wait another hour before the tide was low enough for them to cross the mudflats, so they had stood with the large flock of pilgrims, staring across the bay at the abbey perched on the rock. Loxley himself was feeling tense and wary. From what Jehan and Renaut had told them, they wouldn’t have long to visit the abbey before the tide came in, essentially trapping them on the island, and Loxley wasn’t comfortable being anywhere he couldn’t escape.

Gisburne seemed to be thinking the same thing because he said, “I won’t stay at the abbey long.”

Loxley shook his head at a peddler offering to sell him a candle. “No, this is important. If we’re still here when the tide comes in, we’ll just have to stay the night.”

“Can we afford it?” Gisburne asked.

“Yes, just about.”

A large group of pilgrims had amassed at the abbey by the time Loxley and Gisburne arrived, so they dutifully joined the long line of people waiting to see the relics. As far as Loxley could tell, these relics seemed to be nothing more than a scrap of red cloth and a stone, but he knew that seemingly innocuous objects could hold power. While Loxley might not have been impressed by the relics, he couldn’t help marvelling at the towering arches of the nave.

After he had seen the relics, Gisburne knelt down at the altar to pray, so Loxley started walking along the arcade. He found himself reaching out to touch the stonework of the arches, while his eyes kept being drawn to the high ceiling above him. He thought he could hear the sound of hammering outside the church and then remembered all of the scaffolding they had seen as they mounted the steps to the abbey.

Loxley had crossed to the aisle on the other side of the church, and was studying the clerestory, when the sun shone intensely through the windows. Forced to avert his eyes, Loxley lowered his gaze and found one of the pilgrims staring right at him. When the pilgrim noticed that Loxley had discovered him, he looked away. At first, Loxley assumed that the man had simply been curious or lost in thought, not realizing that he’d been staring, but then the pilgrim spun around abruptly and hurried out of the church. Loxley decided that he and Gisburne had better leave as well. He didn’t know what was happening, but it couldn’t be good. Loxley left the arcade and walked briskly down the nave towards Gisburne.

Crouching down beside Gisburne at the altar, Loxley said, “We have to go.”

Gisburne opened his eyes, but he gave no other indication that Loxley had spoken to him. “Why?” he asked. “What’s happened?”

“I’m not sure. I just know that something isn’t right. I just caught a man staring at me. He bolted when he saw that I’d caught him at it. I think he could be a spy.”

Gisburne’s brow creased. “For the Knights of the Apocalypse?”

“Can you think of anyone else who might be spying on us?”

“No, I suppose not.” Gisburne stood and they made their way towards the main door of the church. However, as they were passing the arcade, Loxley remembered a door he had seen behind one of the arches. It had been ajar and had seemed to lead out into a corridor. Loxley placed a hand on Gisburne’s arm and pointed to the arcade.

“I think I may have found us a better escape route,” Loxley said. “If we leave the way we came, we might run into your friends.” He walked past a column, leading Gisburne behind the arches on the south side of the nave.

Gisburne eyed the door dubiously. “We don’t even know where it leads.”

“Away from the Knights of the Apocalypse, unless you’d rather stay and greet them.” Loxley peered through the door. “I see stairs leading down. They might not think to look for us on the lower level.”

“I wouldn’t count on it,” Gisburne muttered, but he followed Loxley through the door all the same.

After descending the stairs, they were soon passing through a cavernous room, which Gisburne thought was an ossuary. Then they were walking along a further corridor and down another staircase to reach a crypt with brick walls and a simple stone altar.

Gisburne took in the room, making no attempt to disguise his disdain. “It’s a chapel, Loxley. What do you suggest we do? Pray for salvation?”

“No, but it might be a good place to lie low until the knights have searched the church.”  
Loxley sat down on the hard floor, thankful that there weren’t any pilgrims in the chapel as Gisburne paced around the room like a caged animal. Although Loxley’s fear had come to pass, he didn’t think it had been a mistake to visit the abbey. He remembered Gisburne’s conviction that, despite the dangers, he had to make this pilgrimage. And Gisburne had said that he no longer feared Baphomet. Surely, that had to be a sign that they were on the right path.

“Have you felt anything while we’ve been in the abbey?” Loxley asked as Gisburne swept past him again.

Gisburne stared at Loxley blankly. “Felt anything?”

“When you were looking at the relics or praying, did you feel anything? Wisdom ? Guidance? Some idea where we should bury Baphomet?”

“Oh, no,” Gisburne said. “Nothing like that.”

Loxley suppressed a groan. “Well, there must have been _something_. You were so sure you needed to come here.”

Gisburne had opened his mouth to respond when they heard the sound of footfalls approaching the stairs leading down to the chapel.”

“Remember what you said about praying?” Loxley asked.

They both scrambled over to the altar and went down on their knees. As the reverberation from the footfalls grew louder, Loxley and Gisburne bowed their heads low, hoping they would be mistaken for pilgrims. When Loxley heard the rasp of a sword being pulled from its scabbard, he knew their ploy had failed. He raised his eyes just in time to see de Sancerre thrust the tip of his sword under Gisburne’s chin.

“Qu’est-ce que c’est?” de Sancerre said. “Priez-vous?”

Gisburne began to answer de Sancerre in French, but de Sancerre cut him off.

“No, I would prefer it if you did not sully my language once more with your English tongue.”

“I’m Norman,” Gisburne said.

De Sancerre tutted and shook his head. “Your great-grandfather maybe, but you are not. I will speak your language for both you and your friend, who is most certainly English – and a very famous Englishman at that. Is this not true, Robin Hood?”

 

 

Gisburne’s eyes had widened slightly, but he didn’t give any other sign that de Sancerre’s statement had unsettled him. “I’m afraid you’re mistaken. I know Robin Hood and this man – ”

“What makes you think I’m Robin Hood?” Loxley asked. He had been about to deny the accusation, but he wanted to know why de Sancerre now believed that he was Robert of Huntingdon.

De Sancerre glared at Loxley. “Who else would be plotting against the Knights of the Apocalypse? Robin Hood and his men attacked the preceptory and killed our Grandmaster. In fact, he killed every last man, save this one, Guy of Gisburne. Why would Robin Hood have spared him unless they chose to become allies – or, maybe, they were allies all along. I always thought it was odd that a knight with so many soldiers at his disposal could not kill a few ragged outlaws.”

Gisburne shoved de Sancerre’s sword away with his arm. “I never worked with Robin Hood! I was one of you! I was wounded in the battle and nearly died!”

De Sancerre scowled at Gisburne and then kicked him in the face. “We only have _your_ word for that, and you have made a miraculous recovery for a man who was so close to death. Where is it, Gisburne?”

Gisburne was lying on the floor, cradling his face. “Where is what?”

“Stop playing games. The statue. The Baphomet statue.”

“I told you – ”

“A string of lies!” De Sancerre delivered a kick to Gisburne’s stomach this time. “The same day I spoke to you, our new Grandmaster received word from the men he had sent to England. Despite an extensive search of the preceptory, they found nothing, not even the fragments of the statue that should have been there if it had been destroyed in the battle – as you claim. The statue must have been stolen.”

Loxley thought he had better step in before de Sancerre really caused Gisburne harm. “Why would he have travelled to Normandy if he had stolen the statue? Why would he have gone to see a priest in an abbey so close to your preceptory? And why would he go on a pilgrimage to Mont Saint-Michel?”

De Sancerre tilted his head slightly as if considering what Loxley had said. “Maybe Gisburne could not stay in England after betraying his lord and, by extension, the King. As you knew the statue would be valuable, you agreed to accompany Gisburne to Normandy if he split the money with you.”

“Leaving my men behind in England?” Loxley asked.

De Sancerre shrugged. “You are a thief. I doubt it would matter much. As for this pilgrimage, I assume it is something you two invented to keep us off the scent until you found someone who was willing to pay your price.” De Sancerre smiled. “I would not be surprised if you had agreed to meet an interested party here. Where is the statue, Robin Hood? Is it hidden close to the abbey? Maybe in Avranches?”

Loxley gazed up at de Sancerre calmly, laying his hand on the pouch at his belt. He had volunteered to carry it on the pilgrimage because he knew that Gisburne was uncomfortable with the burden at the best of times. “I may not have the statue, but I possess something even more valuable. You can either allow me to stand or kneel down beside me. I won’t show it to you otherwise.”

Gisburne was no longer hugging his stomach, but was starting to sit up. “Loxley, what are you doing?”

De Sancerre looked down at Loxley in amusement, ignoring Gisburne. “I suppose I can grant you that one request. You may rise, Robin Hood.”

Loxley stood up slowly, reaching for the pouch that was hanging from his belt.

“Are you mad?” Gisburne shouted. “Don’t give it to him!”

Loxley raised the pouch as if he were offering it to de Sancerre. Then he swung it with all his might and struck de Sancerre in the face. De Sancerre reeled back, dropping his sword and clutching his scarred cheek. The two other knights in the chapel had pulled their swords from their scabbards and were rushing towards Loxley. Gisburne leapt to his feet and also entered the fray.

Although Loxley found himself up against the older, shorter knight, he quickly noticed just how out of practice he was with a sword. He found he was parrying more blows than attacking. Loxley began to move around more, circling the knight, dancing just out of reach. He hoped he might tire out his opponent and even the odds, but the knight soon saw through Loxley’s strategy and stopped lunging at him.

Loxley was concentrating so much on the fight that he didn’t realize de Sancerre was sneaking up on him until Gisburne shouted, “Loxley!”

Loxley spun around to block de Sancerre’s sword, but de Sancerre was faster. He struck Loxley’s left bicep before Loxley could parry the blow. Loxley staggered back, but he didn’t drop his sword. He saw Gisburne’s opponent turn his head and grin. The grin froze as Gisburne plunged his sword into the knight’s belly. The man who had been fighting Loxley gave an anguished cry and launched himself at Gisburne, leaving Loxley to face de Sancerre.

Loxley gritted his teeth against the pain in his arm, trying to ignore the blood he could feel soaking his sleeve. He knew that de Sancerre would likely kill him, but Loxley hoped that he might at least wound him first and buy Gisburne some time – if Gisburne managed to escape from the abbey.

De Sancerre swung his sword hard enough to almost knock Loxley over, but Loxley managed to parry the blow and duck out of the way of de Sancerre’s next sword thrust. De Sancerre shook his head, feigning pity. “I thought you would be more impressive, Robin Hood. I suppose I should not have expected all of those stories to be true.”

“I’m sorry to disappoint you.” Loxley lunged at de Sancerre, hoping to catch him off guard, but de Sancerre blocked Loxley’s sword easily.

“You are losing blood,” de Sancerre said. “Maybe I should finish you off and put you out of your misery.”

Loxley fended off another blow. “At least I would be spared from having to listen to you.”

De Sancerre’s eyes were clouded by anger for an instant before de Sancerre laughed sharply. Seeing an opportunity, Loxley charged, only to have de Sancerre meet his attack and effortlessly wrench his sword from his hand. Loxley dove to the ground to retrieve his sword, losing the pouch from his belt because he hadn’t had time to secure it properly. It took him longer to stand than he would have liked as he’d started feeling woozy. As he clambered to his feet, he was amazed that de Sancerre hadn’t killed him. Then Loxley saw the reason why. De Sancerre was gaping at the pouch, mesmerized. As it was rattling on the ground, Loxley couldn’t blame him.

“Mon Dieu,” de Sancerre muttered, tapping the pouch with the tip of his sword. He jumped when the pouch shook even more wildly. When de Sancerre stooped down to pick up the pouch, Loxley struck him on the back of the head with the hilt of his sword. Loxley knew it would have been wiser to kill de Sancerre, but he never liked to kill a man from behind when he was fighting him at close quarters, and he thought enough blood had been shed in the abbey already. As he watched de Sancerre crumple on the ground, he resisted the urge to join him and glanced wearily at Gisburne, who was still fighting against the one remaining knight.

They’re too evenly matched, Loxley thought as Gisburne and the knight circled each other, neither man gaining ground or surrendering it. Sighing, Loxley lifted his sword and hit a second knight on the back of the head. Loxley smiled apologetically as Gisburne glowered at him in outrage. “I’m sorry but neither of you was getting anywhere and...” His vision swam and he reached out blindly, hoping the nearest wall was closer than it seemed. What his hand ended up touching was Gisburne’s chest. Then Gisburne was grabbing his good arm and leading him to the altar.

“Here. Lean on this for support, you idiot. I’ll see what I can find to bind your wound.” Gisburne knelt down beside the unconscious knight he had just been fighting and tried to rip away part of his surcoat, but the cloth wouldn’t give.

“Try his belt,” Loxley said.

Gisburne unbuckled the knight’s belt, removing the scabbard before standing and bringing it over to Loxley. It was a clumsy effort at best, but the belt held and seemed to stop the flow of blood. Gisburne was reaching out to help Loxley move away from the altar when Loxley remembered that the pouch was still on the floor.

“The box. It fell. It’s...” Loxley pointed vaguely in the direction where he last remembered seeing the pouch. Thankfully, Gisburne understood because he picked up the pouch and tied it to his belt.

“Come on, Loxley. We have to go.” Gisburne took Loxley’s good arm and headed for the stairs.

They had just entered the ossuary when Loxley heard footfalls again. Fortunately, Gisburne heard them too and pulled Loxley behind a column before ducking behind one himself. Craning his neck, Loxley peered around the column. He saw two Knights of the Apocalypse and the man who had been spying on them earlier in the church. They were striding quickly across the ossuary, and Loxley assumed that they were in search of de Sancerre.

As soon as the men had left the ossuary, Gisburne held Loxley’s arm again as he hurried to the stairs that would lead them back to the upper level.

“Leave me,” Loxley said. “I’ll only slow you down. You should take the box and go.”

Gisburne’s grip on Loxley’s arm only tightened. “Shut up and keep moving.”

Although Gisburne practically dragged him up the stairs, Loxley knew the knights from the ossuary might appear at any moment. He looked around the church for a place where they could conceal themselves and spotted a fresh crowd of pilgrims gathering at the church entrance.

“Head for that group of pilgrims at the door,” Loxley said.

“Why?” Gisburne asked, though he still did as Loxley suggested and they moved towards the pilgrims.

“We’ll need somewhere to hide in case those knights decide to search for us in the church. If they don’t see us, they might assume that we escaped from the abbey.”

“Which means they’ll be searching for us in the village, making it even harder for us to escape from Mont Saint-Michel.”

“If they discover us in the church, there won’t be an escape of any kind. Besides, they’ll have the whole island to search. We might still slip past them.”

Gisburne shook his head in disbelief, but he still pushed his way into the crowd of pilgrims, ignoring the confused stares, dirty looks, and grumbles. Because Gisburne was taller than most of the pilgrims, he hunched over, trying to disguise his height. Loxley, who was nearly as tall, did the same. Luckily, they didn’t have to maintain those positions for long. As Loxley had predicted, the knights appeared in the church. Although Loxley couldn’t see them, he could hear their raised voices and the clink of chainmail as they ran. Loxley dared to peek over the heads of the pilgrims when the noise had died down, and he didn’t catch sight of a single surcoat. Then the pilgrims around them were moving into the church, and they were both left standing alone at the doors. To Loxley’s surprise, Gisburne was regarding him with an expression that might have been concern if it had come from anyone else.

“I should take you to the infirmary,” Gisburne said.

Loxley shook his head. “No, it’s too dangerous. We have to leave the abbey.”

“Then we’ll have to find you a physician, though I suspect the whole village is made up of peddlers.”

“No, de Sancerre knows I’m wounded. He’ll assume that we’ve gone in search of a physician.”

Gisburne grimaced. “Then I suppose we’ll just have to find a peddler selling bandages.”

 

 

Loxley didn’t remember much of his journey through the village. After descending the many stairs of the Grand Degré, everything had gone rather blurry. He knew he must have fainted at some point because he woke up to find himself propped up against a wooden market cart. He then became aware of the conversation that was being conducted around him. He realized that Gisburne, who was sitting beside him, was speaking in French to the girl who was in charge of the cart.

The girl had dark hair and shrewd grey eyes. She couldn’t have been more than sixteen. Although she was standing and watching the people who walked past her stall, she noticed that Loxley was awake before Gisburne did. “Ton ami est réveillé,” she said.

Loxley sat up straighter, though he continued to lean against the cart. “This is your physician peddler?”

Gisburne looked sheepish. “She obviously isn’t a peddler and was the only villager who was willing to help us.” He glanced at Loxley’s arm. “She also happens to sell ribbons and kerchiefs.”

Loxley looked down at his arm and saw that the belt had been replaced by a makeshift kerchief bandage held in place by a white ribbon that was no longer as pristine as it must have been before Gisburne had acquired it. “I hope you paid her.”

“Oh, yes. She insisted.”

“What is her name?”

Gisburne’s eyes shifted to the girl who as gazing out at the village again. “Comment vous appelez-vous?”

“Adela,” the girl said.

Loxley looked up at Adela and smiled. “Merci, Adela.”

Adela returned Loxley’s smile and nodded. Then, eyeing Loxley’s arm, she murmured something under her breath that didn’t sound complimentary.

“What did she say?” Loxley asked Gisburne in a whisper.

Gisburne scowled. “She doesn’t like soldiers.”

Loxley’s eyebrows rose. “Oh? Did she begin to dislike them before or after she met you?”

Gisburne frowned at Loxley, but he still asked Adela why she didn’t like soldiers. The rapid surge of French that followed was something that even Gisburne seemed to have difficulty understanding.

“Soldiers laid siege to Mont Saint-Michel nearly ten years ago,” Gisburne said. “It was when the King of France was trying to take over King John’s lands in Normandy. Acting on behalf of the King of France, the Duke of Brittany set fire to the village and killed off its inhabitants. He failed to take the abbey, though.”

Loxley’s eyes returned to Adela, and he wondered if her parents had been in the village when the massacre had taken place. Had she been made an orphan when the village had been razed to the ground? Is that why she worked in the market? Loxley was about to have Gisburne ask Adela another question when a shadow fell across him and he heard Adela address someone who was obviously a patron. He didn’t need the gentle kick on the shin from Adela, or Gisburne’s hand over his mouth, to know enough to keep still and absolutely quiet.

“How long has it been since we left the abbey?” Loxley asked once the patron had left.

“About an hour,” Gisburne said. “Maybe longer.”

“You should go now while you still have the chance, Gisburne. If you wait much longer, you’ll be trapped here by the tide.”

“We’ll go when you’ve had the chance to rest. Oh, Adela said I could give you this. It should help you get your strength back.” Gisburne passed a wineskin to Loxley, removing the stopper as he did so.

“Leave me, Gisburne. If they capture us and find the box – ”

“No,” Gisburne said. “We made a bargain.”

Loxley rolled his eyes. “Don’t be daft. You don’t really want to die. You wouldn’t enjoy it as much as you’d think.”

Gisburne snorted. “I never claimed that I would. What’s it like? Where do pagans even go when they die?”

Loxley drank some of the wine from the wineskin, debating whether he should even answer. “There was a light and then nothing for a very long time. It was only after that when I was in Sherwood.”

“I would have thought you’d like that,” Gisburne muttered.

“It was lonely. I could see my friends, but they couldn’t see me.” Loxley eyed Gisburne cautiously, half afraid that he’d ask him about his resurrection. That had been the worst part of all. Herne had needed to tend to both he and Gisburne after Baphomet had finished with them. After being incorporeal for all those years, it had been a shock to return to his body. He had been faced with an onslaught of emotions that had completely overwhelmed him. He had even struggled to make his limbs work. Spending days huddled in a corner of the cavern, he had shivered despite the blankets, unable to get warm, unable to feel whole.

“You’ve gone pale again,” Gisburne said. “Maybe you should lie down.”

Loxley shut his eyes and groaned. “And maybe _you_ should leave Mont Saint-Michel.”

Gisburne took a sip from the wineskin. “I couldn’t leave even if I wanted to. The knights are patrolling the village. They’ve already passed this cart twice.”

 

 

Loxley didn’t know how much time had passed, but he could see that the sun was dipping lower in the sky, and the day was no longer as bright as it had been. If they didn’t leave Mont Saint-Michel soon, they really would be trapped on the island. Loxley was saying as much to Gisburne when he heard voices above him and immediately stopped talking. A man was speaking to Adela in what sounded like an urgent, even frightened, tone. When the man had left the cart, Adela crouched down beside them and spoke rapidly to Gisburne.

Loxley saw Gisburne turn grave. “What is it?”

“The knights have been searching all of the shops, stalls, and carts,” Gisburne said. “It won’t be long before they reach us. You were right. We can’t stay here anymore.”

Loxley nodded, thoughts whirling. He wished they were in a village like Wickham. It was much smaller, yes, but the people would have been behind them and would have helped them to escape. Of course, the outlaws and the villagers had shared a common enemy...

“Gisburne! That story Adela told us about the attack on the village. What if we were to tell the villagers that the knights have been hired by the Duke of Brittany to finish what he originally started?”

Gisburne seemed doubtful. “There are only a few knights. They’re hardly likely to be attacking a village of this size.”

“All right. What if they’ve been sent by the Duke of Brittany to look for traitors to the King of France. It would explain why the knights are searching the village.”

“They’re searching for us!”

“The villagers don’t know that. Besides, you saw Adela’s reaction to the knights. Just mentioning the Duke of Brittany might be enough.”

Gisburne’s brow furrowed. “Enough for what?”

“Enough to get the villagers to turn against the knights,” Loxley said. “If even half the village stood up to them, it might prevent the knights from pursuing us. It’s not as if we have anything to lose.”

Gisburne sighed. “I suppose you’ll want me to speak to Adela.” He tugged on Adela’s skirts, and she glared at him before lowering herself down on her haunches once again. Then, when Adela heard what Gisburne had to say, her expression changed and there was a look of determination in her eyes.

“Je dois dire à tout le monde,” Adela said before leaving her cart.

Gisburne turned to Loxley. “She says she’s going to tell everyone.”

“Yes, I thought that’s what she’d say.” Loxley peered around the cart to see if he could spot any of the knights. “The way is clear. We should leave now.”

“But Adela has only just gone off to – ”

“I’m sure word will spread quickly,” Loxley said. “You could always whisper it in a few ears if necessary.” He reached into his purse and took out some money for Adela, leaving the coins among the ribbons in her cart.

As Loxley and Gisburne made their way through the village, they received some curious glances, but nothing more. Loxley wondered if the people they passed had heard the story yet or if word had yet to reach them. Gisburne was walking swiftly, looking tense and vigilant.

They had just passed a fishmonger’s stall when they heard a voice call out, “Robin Hood!”

Loxley didn’t need to see the man to know it was de Sancerre. He and Gisburne took off, running as fast as they could.

“Tell them, Gisburne!” Loxley cried. “Tell them that the Duke of Brittany plans to raze the village again! Tell them the knights want to kill us because we’ve been trying to warn the villagers!”

For once, Loxley admired the loud timbre of Gisburne’s voice as Gisburne shouted out his message to the villagers. As Loxley had hoped, there was an angry murmur from the people. Merchants picked up staffs, and any other objects that might serve as weapons, and left their stalls. Some women grabbed their children and hid, but others went and stood beside the men. Loxley fervently hoped that there wouldn’t be any bloodshed, and the knights would have enough sense to retreat.

Loxley couldn’t believe it when they reached the mudflats before the tide came in. Then his feeling of elation vanished when Gisburne said, “I don’t suppose you know what quicksand looks like.”

Loxley’s eyes widened in alarm. “No. Why?”

Gisburne was regarding the mudflats grimly. “Jehan told me there was quicksand in some parts of the bay.”

Loxley stared at Gisburne in disbelief. “And you didn’t think to tell me this earlier?”

“It didn’t seem important at the time.”

Loxley closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. “Well, if we start sinking, I suppose we’ll have found some. Right now, I’d rather risk quicksand than face de Sancerre and his men.”

Gisburne nodded and they continued across the bay at a brisk pace, though Loxley noticed the wary glances that Gisburne kept casting at the ground.

They still had about a third of the bay to cross when Loxley heard men shouting from somewhere behind them. Looking over his shoulder, Loxley’s heart sank when he saw that it was two of the knights.

“Don’t they ever give up?” Loxley grumbled.

“Apparently not,” Gisburne said.

They wheeled around, drawing their swords from their scabbards. However, the knights had made no attempt to approach them and were keeping their distance. Then Loxley felt water sloshing around his boots and understood why. “Gisburne...”

“I know. We need to move. Now.”

Running across the bay was challenging enough with the mud sucking at their boots, but it became even more difficult as the water rose first to their shins and then up to their knees.

“Gisburne, the box.”

Gisburne removed the pouch from his belt and gripped it firmly. Loxley shivered as the water rose to their waists, and he was surprised when he found his wrist being seized and his good arm draped across Gisburne’s shoulders.

“Don’t let go or you might be swept off by the current,” Gisburne said.

Loxley glared at Gisburne. “I know how to swim.”

“You’re shivering and you’ve been falling behind. You’re not going to make it across the bay if you don’t hold on to me. I can’t keep a grip on you myself. I need one arm to hold the box above the water and the other to swim.”

Loxley knew Gisburne was right and that it was stupid to argue, so he grasped Gisburne’s shirt. “I could hold the box for you.”

Gisburne snorted. “With a wounded arm? Just keep your head above the water, Loxley.”

The water rose up to their chests and Gisburne lifted the box above his head, doing his best to keep it out of the water. However, he was really struggling against the current. The shore was tantalizingly close and, yet, it might as well have been all the way across the Channel with the lack of headway they were making.

Gisburne was a strong swimmer, but it wouldn’t be long before he succumbed to exhaustion. His face was flushed and he was panting from exertion. Loxley looked around him for anything they might cling to in order to stay afloat. That was when he heard a loud whinny and, turning his head forward again, saw a white horse swimming towards them.

“Am I going mad?” Gisburne asked.

Loxley was grinning. “No, I see the horse too.”

As the horse swam up alongside them, Loxley released Gisburne’s shirt and gripped the horse’s mane, floating onto the horse’s back. Then he reached out with his injured arm and pulled Gisburne to him. “Grab hold of the horse. She’ll take us to shore.”

“You can’t be sure of that,” Gisburne said. “The horse must have panicked and bolted. Why else would it be in the water and swimming _away_ from shore?”

Loxley shook his head. “She’s here to help us. I know she is. Remember the dream I had last night? This horse appeared to me then.”

“It’s madness,” Gisburne said, but he grabbed a hold of the horse’s mane as well. Loxley plucked the box from the hand that Gisburne had only just managed to keep out of the water and took charge of it himself. Gisburne nodded gratefully and allowed his shaking arm to fall into the water. The horse was already rotating, directing herself towards shore. She seemed unaffected by the current, navigating through the bay as if it were a gentle stream.

When they finally made it to dry land, Loxley and Gisburne collapsed face down on the bank, shivering and soaking wet. The horse neighed loudly, pawing at the ground insistently and nudging them on the back with her muzzle. When that didn’t work, she seized Loxley’s tunic in her teeth and began hauling him up.

“All right, all right!” Loxley said, scrambling to his feet. “You’re right. We can’t stay here.” He walked over to Gisburne and prodded him with his boot. “Come on. We have to go.”

Gisburne lifted his head slightly and gazed up at Loxley blearily. “Where?”

“I don’t know, but I think the horse might.”

 

 

The horse stopped outside the ruins of what once must have been stables. As Gisburne regarded the dilapidated building, he didn’t look pleased, but Loxley knew it would be a good shelter, despite its decrepit state. Part of the roof was intact, and the sections of the wall that were still standing seemed sturdy enough.

Loxley slipped off the horse and took in the rest of their surroundings. “It will be nightfall soon. We need to build a fire.”

“I don’t know why she didn’t just take us to the farm if she’s so clever,” Gisburne grumbled, but he dismounted the horse and helped Loxley search for kindling. Neither one of them had any flint, so Loxley showed Gisburne how to craft a wooden spindle and use that to light a fire. As Gisburne’s hands were stiff and clumsy because they were so cold, it was a long time before the spindle finally began to glow red. As it was pitch black by then, they had to examine Loxley’s injured arm in the firelight. They had nothing they could use to dress the wound and no means to suture it, so Gisburne kept the kerchief on Loxley’s arm, tying it in place with Adela’s soggy ribbon.

They were still too cold and exhausted to search for anything to eat, so Loxley and Gisburne sat slumped before the fire. Then, to Loxley’s immense surprise, the white horse settled down on her side near the fire. She tossed her head and snorted, looking directly at Loxley. She couldn’t be suggesting what Loxley thought she was suggesting, could she? The horse whinnied and flicked her tail in what might have been an impatient gesture. Loxley crawled over to her and gently laid a hand on her neck. She didn’t flinch and, incredibly, felt bone dry, despite her swim in the bay.

“What are you doing?” Gisburne asked.

“Accepting an invitation, I think.” Loxley slowly lowered himself down, resting his head against the horse’s flank.

Gisburne eyed both Loxley and the horse in wonder. “She has to be the strangest horse I’ve ever seen. I don’t think even my own horse would let me do that.”

The horse lifted her head and gazed at Gisburne this time.

“I think she’s trying to tell you something,” Loxley said.

“What? No.”

“She’s warm and she’s willing to keep us warm. Surely, after everything she’s done for us, she’s earned your trust. She saved our lives, Gisburne.”

“I...” Gisburne gulped and then crawled towards the horse, much as Loxley had done, as if fearing he might startle her. “She’s dry!” he exclaimed when he laid his head down. “How can she be dry?”

“She must be a magical horse.” Loxley had closed his eyes and could feel sleep overtaking him.

Gisburne shook Loxley’s shoulder. “You said you saw this horse in your dream. What did she do?”

“Well, she was running,” Loxley murmured. “That’s what horses do, isn’t it? She started off as a woman and then she turned into a white mare.”

As Loxley had shut his eyes again, he missed Gisburne’s shocked glance and didn’t see him sit up abruptly.

When Loxley woke, the horse was gone and sunlight was streaming into the stables. He was about to scold Gisburne for not waking him, but the words didn’t make it past his lips. Gisburne was staring, transfixed, at a fresco on one of the walls. It looked very old and quite faded, which must have been why neither one of them had noticed it last night. However, despite its age and condition, Loxley could clearly see that the fresco depicted a woman sitting on a white horse.

“It’s the goddess Epona,” Gisburne said. “My mother used to tell me stories about her when I was...” He trailed off, sighing. “It doesn’t matter. I’m sure she can be found all over the place. She was very popular with the Romans. I wouldn’t be surprised if these stables were built back then given the state they’re in now.”

“Epona...” Of course, Loxley thought. He should have realized it sooner, though he suspected that he would have thought of Rhiannon first as she was the goddess he was more familiar with. “Didn’t the Romans believe that she protected the cavalry? Isn’t that why they worshipped her?”

Gisburne shrugged, eyes still fixed on the wall. “I suppose.”

“And you’re a knight in desperate need of protection,” Loxley said.

Gisburne’s head turned sharply. “Do you really expect me to believe that horse was Epona?”

“Yes, I think she must have been.”

Gisburne glared at Loxley. “Just because you dreamt of a white horse doesn’t mean – ”

“I saw Epona, the woman, too,” Loxley said. “It was at Saint-Étienne. She appeared to me in the cloister while you were speaking to Father Audric. She beckoned to me and then disappeared. I don’t know if she was actually there or if it was a vision.” Loxley’s eyes went to the fresco on the wall. “Why do you think a white mare appeared in the bay when we were close to drowning? Or that this same mare should lead us to a place where we could find warmth, shelter and protection, a place where men once worshipped Epona?”

Gisburne was hugging his knees. “Even if I accept that she’s Epona and that I’m...I’m under her protection, what does it mean? What am I supposed to do?”

“Maybe you should do what you came here to do.”

Gisburne’s head whipped around to Loxley. “Bury Baphomet? Here?”

“I won’t ask if you believe in Epona, but I’ll ask you this. Does this place feel safe to you? Does it feel protected?”

Gisburne thought for a moment. “Yes, I suppose it does...as unlikely as that must sound.”

 

 

Gisburne buried the box outside the stables, close to one of the remaining walls. He dug as deep in the ground as he could without the use of a shovel and packed the earth down over the hole tightly, stomping on it with one boot. Then he looked at Loxley, and Loxley feared that the moment he’d been dreading had arrived, that Gisburne would ask him to fulfill his promise. But, then, Gisburne opened his mouth and the words that came out weren’t the ones that Loxley had been expecting.

“We should get away from here in case de Sancerre decides to pursue us. Do you think you’ll be able to make it back to the farm on foot or should I fetch the horses and come back for you?”

Loxley fought back a grin. “I can manage.”

“Good. I’m sure Felise will give us a meal and stitch your wound, but we shouldn’t stay there too long.”

Loxley nodded, still fighting to keep a straight face. “And where do you suggest we go after that?”

“Well, we’re near Brittany, so I was thinking we could go there,” Gisburne said.

Loxley raised an eyebrow. “But the Duke of Brittany is the enemy. What would the people of Mont Saint-Michel think?”

Gisburne’s lips twitched. “After what happened in the village yesterday, I was hoping de Sancerre would wish to avoid Brittany.”

Loxley finally gave in and smiled “You could be right.” He clapped a startled Gisburne on the back. “Let’s go. We have many more miles to cover.”


End file.
